Cocoa
by Hutchie
Summary: Doyle had a bad day.  He just wants to relax with cocoa and a good book.  But Bodie insists on visiting...


British beta thanks to Anna060957

1638 words

**COCOA**

by Allie

Doyle hitched his legs up onto the couch, stretched them out luxuriously, and blew gently on the foam of his cocoa. His hands wrapped around the mug that was almost too hot to touch. Finally, he felt himself beginning to relax, letting go of the hard knot in his gut. Safely at home, he could let down his guard, listen to music, read, maybe watch telly.

He reached for his book on the back of the couch—something light tonight, not his usual reading material but an Agatha Christie, sheer pleasure reading. He smiled in anticipation of Poirot and his little grey cells. If anyone like him existed, Cowley'd have him working for him in an advisory capacity, surely.

A scrabble of keys at the lock. Doyle flopped his book on his lap, closed his eyes and sighed.

Bodie.

Now Ray wouldn't be alone, he couldn't let down the guard and relax, and it would be 'Move over mate, share the telly,' or perhaps worse, 'Come and have a drink, mate, do the rounds of a few pubs with me and carouse the stress away.'

Maybe some nights that would work. Not tonight.

"Bodie..." Doyle raised his voice threateningly. He heard the stress and annoyance in it, how he was stretched thin to the edge, and hoped Bodie did, too. Bodie would end up taking the brunt of that whether Doyle wished to give it to him or not, if he didn't take his warning now and leave.

"Only me, mate!" called Bodie.

Doyle suppressed a groan, letting his chin fall to his chest. A bit of cocoa splashed over his hand at the incautious movement, and he cursed and yanked his hand away from the hot liquid.

"Burning ourselves, are we?" Bodie entered the flat and the smell of curry entered with him. "Ought to be careful with that."

"Shut up and get me a towel." Doyle sucked on his burnt hand and grimaced down at his splashed, stained shirt. Good thing he hadn't had any more buttons undone or it would've been over his chest and all.

"Here." Bodie shoved a white dishcloth into his hands and Doyle mopped quickly. "Be more careful next time."

He was in no mood to thank Bodie, despite curry. He threw the towel back and scowled at him. "Wouldn't have to be if you wouldn't barge in like a rhinoceros."

Bodie snorted. "Oh yeah, good one, Ray. Reference to Africa, my size and danger, and of course I've got a large horn, yeah."

Doyle rolled his eyes; his partner could turn anything in to a suggestive joke. He pushed aside the fact that he could do the same in the right mood. "Bodie." He spoke carefully and calmly. "I'd rather be alone this evening, all right?" Even if it meant no curry and having to cook. "I need to relax, not share the telly and listen to your jokes." He kept his eyes closed, hoping Bodie would take the hint and go away—and that Doyle wouldn't have to look at a wounded, pouting expression.

"What, no drink? That always calms me—"

"No!"

Silence. Ticking wristwatch. Bodie, standing there, feet planted, not leaving, staring at him. He could feel the gaze.

"Move your legs," said Bodie.

"I shan't."

"You're in no fit mood to be left alone. Listen to your partner for once. Here." Carefully, large hands removed his cocoa mug. "Take a curry." Doyle opened his eyes and stared down in resignation at the container of food plopped into his hands. "I'll fetch the silverware. Make room!"

The food did smell good. "Bring my cocoa back!" Doyle ordered.

"You'll want it more after eating."

"I bloody want it now," said Doyle, though already he was salivating for the pleasurable spice and heat of curry.

"Right, right, can take a hint. There you are, sir." The cocoa he sat on the small table in the middle of the room, now with a spoon stuck in it. Then Bodie tossed him a fork, smirking when Doyle flinched and blinked and barely caught it in time.

"I said go away!" ordered Doyle, scowling, tensing up again, not ready to face any teasing tonight.

"Nah, mate. I brought the curry, I'll stay to eat it." A surprisingly gentle nudge moved his legs, and Bodie sat down, carrying his own fork. He balanced and pried open his curry, and dug in with evident pleasure. "You're lucky mate. This is the stuff here. Murphy wouldn't have brought you this."

"No, he'd have stayed away if I said to. Showed some tact." Doyle picked up his book and threw it at Bodie.

One hand rose, fending it off, then stayed raised in silent signal to behave oneself. "Now, son, I'm trying to eat here."

"Mhmph." Doyle crouched over his own food, eating a few bites. His legs were drawn up now to make room for Bodie. He glared at his partner past his knees, but it began to lack heat as the warmth and comfort of food found its way to him.

Bodie got up and switched the telly on, but turned it low. Doyle glared at the screen, ready to be incensed, but it was only a replay of a football match, harmless and companionable, excellent background viewing.

When he finished his curry, he found he didn't want to move. The cocoa would take the edge off the burn, pleasant though it was, with the milk, and replace the taste with a smooth chocolate one. He stared at Bodie who had his empty container still on his knees and was licking his fork thoughtfully, watching the game.

Doyle nudged him with one foot. "Oi. Get my cocoa."

"Bossy. Watch those feet. They're lethal weapons."

"Yeah, they are and all. Get my cocoa. You took it away." He was still not quite in the mood to be reasonable.

"At least take off your shoes if you're going to kick me."

Doyle realised he shouldn't have put his trainers on the couch in the first place. Grumbling a little, he said, "You do it."

"What, remove your shoes?" Bodie grinned a feral grin. "Suppose I could."

"Never mind." Doyle yanked his feet back and kicked off his shoes against one another, shoving them towards the edge of the couch.

Bodie gave them a tip with the edge of his hand, grimacing. "Like a volatile weapon, your shoes."

"Go on, they don't smell that badly. Get my cocoa."

He watched in amusement as Bodie rose and obeyed. It made him feel a bit good inside to have Bodie listen to him, the way the he so often wouldn't, as if he were made of stone. But if he listened about cocoa, he must not be totally beyond the reach of Doyle's words.

"Ta." Doyle accepted the mug and blew on it from force of habit. It wasn't steaming now. Bodie settled back down beside him, a gentle dip in the couch as he did so. Doyle feet were near his thigh, could've pressed there for warmth on the off chance he'd be welcome, if he'd wanted to risk getting tickled or teased or shoved away if he wasn't. Besides, he was starting to feel warmed now, the food taking effect and the cocoa as well as he sipped it. Well, slurped it perhaps.

"Aren't you going to save any for me?"

Doyle's gaze rose from the smooth, dark liquid that had been occupying him to find Bodie watching intently, his face expressive: not quite wounded, not quite pouting, but something like expectant mixed with disappointment in Ray.

Doyle hesitated, then found he wasn't angry with Bodie or even annoyed any longer. "Here." He held the half-empty mug out, and found himself smiling as Bodie finished it off.

"Ta. You make a bit of all right cocoa, mate." Bodie sat it on the floor so he wouldn't have to rise, leaning forward, giving Doyle's ankles a pat on the way, then settling comfortably back.

Well, he wasn't likely to shove Doyle off if he was in a good mood. Doyle stretched his legs out, flagrantly, over Bodie's lap. "I like to stretch out," he said, giving Bodie a look that dared him to make something of it, laugh at him, or shove him away.

Bodie raised one mobile eyebrow. "Your house, innit mate? Suppose you can practice your own...strange rituals."

"Yeah, and don't you forget it." He ignored Bodie and focused on the telly. Felt himself winding down, beginning to relax. Cocoa burned sweetly in his stomach next to the curry. Wouldn't usually mix them, but he felt all right so far. Better than too many lagers, at any rate.

A pleasant lassitude overtook him. Tiredness and calm weighed down his eyelids, made focusing on the game difficult and increasingly unnecessary. Bodie was being surprisingly good company, sitting quite still, watching the game, providing an immovable, solid, warm cushion for Doyle.

Doyle drifted...and saw again gunshots, squealing tyres, men running and being chased. He pushed the thoughts away deliberately and then let himself drift in the land of houses, things on telly low and comfortable, Poirot waiting in a book and Bodie here. You were safe if Bodie was there to watch your back.

He slipped, slipped...

And awoke with a start like something was falling away beneath him, leaving him on untenable ground. "Murphy." He opened his eyes and looked up, squinted at his partner. "Why did you mention Murph? Cowley's not thinking of reteaming us is he?"

Bodie patted his legs once, twice. "Go back to sleep, mate. Not as far as I know, he isn't."

Doyle relaxed back against the couch and under the warm hands on his lower limbs. "Good."

As his eyes closed, he nearly missed Bodie's broad, delighted and surprised grin.

Nearly.


End file.
